So Charming A Talent
by QuiteContent
Summary: When Darcy wakes at Pemberley with little memory of the preceding days, he must rely upon his family to shelter him from the evils of an unidentified sorcerer. Magic AU. Regency. One-shot. Darcy centred. Written for a challenge.


**This was written for a challenge on another Jane Austen fan website (AHA). The challenge was to write a short story on the theme of magic. This is (currently) a one-shot, centred on Darcy. I will warn you plot is thin on the ground! I hope you enjoy it anyway. The title comes from ****_Emma_**** but this story only references ****_Pride and Prejudice._**

When Darcy's eyes adjusted to the light, he saw one figure sitting across the room, and the other at the window, silhouetted by the morning light. He shifted slightly, trying to sit up, but his muscles protested the movement and he lay back against the pillows. The figure at the window turned slightly, and then gave an exclamation.

"He is awake!"

This announcement prompted immediate movement from the second figure, and both rapidly crossed the room to stand by his bed.

But Darcy's vision was blurred, and he could not make out either man at all well. His throat hurt something fierce, and he dared not attempt to speak.

"Can you hear me?" The first man asked. "Darcy, can you hear me? Can you give some sign?"

The meaning of the words took some time to register, and Darcy turned his head towards the men, though it strained his neck greatly to do so. He still could not recognise them, but nor could he shake the feeling that they were very familiar.

"Do not push him, he will be weak yet." The second voice was authoritative, and the shock of recognising it made Darcy stiffen. It was his uncle, he was sure of it. But what on earth was the earl doing in his bedchamber?

He wracked his mind for any memory that could explain this but the revelation of the second figure's identity seemed to sap Darcy's strength. Having at least solved the mystery of who one of the men was, Darcy let his eyes close again. His curiosity over the man's presence did not matter. He was sure that his uncle would never mean him harm.

…

It was mid afternoon when he next awoke, shaken awake by his uncle to take some tea and porridge. The second man proved to be the younger of his mother's nephews, his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. It was a wonder that he had not recognised his cousin's voice first, Darcy thought, as his cousin coaxed him into trying some of the porridge. They spent so much time together.

Darcy could not quite piece together his thoughts, but the tea soothed his parched throat and he soon felt equal to asking questions. He waved away the porridge, too weak to hold the bowl and too embarrassed to be spoon fed in his uncle's presence.

He took in the room, noting the mortar and pestle on the side table, the sprigs of dried herbs and the cellar of salt and the iron nails bent into a charm. There was an iron kettle hanging in the fireplace, though the fire was unlit, and a rabbit's foot dangled on a string from the curtain rail.

"What has happened?" he asked at last, leaning back against the cushioned headboard.

His two visitors exchanged glances.

"We were hoping you could tell us. What do you remember?"

"I was approaching Pemberley, from the eastern side of the woods," Darcy frowned. He could remember very little of his journey or its purpose.

"The east?" His uncle prompted. "You were not come straight from London, then."

"No." Why had the been travelling on that road? "I had been to Arbow Low."

"Good," his uncle breathed. "That will have helped. That may have made the difference."

Darcy could not understand the earl's cryptic remarks, and looked towards his cousin.

"What happened when you were on the road to Pemberley?" Fitzwilliam queried.

Darcy frowned, "I cannot remember much. My valet was with me in the carriage. But when I reached the lodge I was struck down with pain. It was very sudden."

"Thank the Lord you were not on horseback," the earl said. "It could have been the death of you. Even so, it was a nasty curse."

"Curse?" Darcy choked. The strange objects lying around the room made some sense now, though he could only hope that they had not hung a dead cat in the chimney.

The earl pressed his lips in a thin line. "It was a good thing your mother chose such a sensible housekeeper for this place. A little of the old gifts too, or at least the sight for it. She recognised that this was no ordinary evil and sent an express to me immediately, and thank God we were at home."

His uncle stood, "I must speak with her again, and send for some more St. John's Wort. Your cousin will stay with you."

Darcy waited until the earl had left the room, and his footsteps had faded down the hall. "Why does he not ring the bell? Where are the servants?"

"Most of the servants are not in great favour with him at the moment," Fitzwilliam replied at length. "It was such a strong curse that it took nearly all his skill to break it, even with all my aunt's modifications to this house. He fears it must have been cast by someone who knows Pemberley well. A practitioner posing as a servant or tenant, perhaps."

"No," Darcy protested. "Every person I employ is carefully chosen."

But was that the case? Something danced at the edge of Darcy's awareness. There had been trouble, hadn't there? That's why he was returning. That's why he'd gone out of his way on the road. Trouble with a woman. A witch? He could not think.

"You are tired," his cousin said. "The curse is broken now, I assure you, but you must rest."

That evening, once Darcy was able to stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time, his uncle sat by his bed and spoke with him at length.

"We stopped in at Kympton to bring Old Summerby with us, but there was a new man there."

"Summerby has been buried a year," Darcy replied, noting with dissatisfaction how strained his speech was.

"And you have replaced his with a man from the south."

"A good man."

"No doubt, but his housekeeper was the same lady who had attended Summerby, and she advised us that he had no knowledge of the northern evils and little understanding of magic at all."

"He makes a good clergyman for most duties."

"I thought your father had lined up a young man for the role," the earl frowned. "That boy with so much promise when it came to the old ways. He could spot the marks of the fey a mile off."

"He was not ordained," Darcy gasped. The name danced at the edge of his mind but he could not grasp it. There was something else. Was there a deliberate block on his memory? Part of the curse?

"Easy," his uncle said, adjusting the poultice next to Darcy's pillow. "Without Summerby you will need more assistance from other sources. Have you been going to Kent?"

"Yes," Darcy breathed. He was able to stay awake for longer periods, but it tired him to talk much or move about. After a few minutes of speech long sentences were once more beyond him.

"Every year?"

"Yes, sir," the colonel answered, realising that Darcy was unequal to the task. "We have gone together, every Easter."

"Very good. My sister keeps once of the best defended homes in England. The iron palings were a stroke of genius. She is very good with curses, you must understand. She saved Anne."

Were they speaking of his mother? Darcy struggled to keep his eyes open, keen to understand more.

"She would have saved Sir Lewis," his uncle continued, "if she had heard in time, I am sure. You must keep your visits up. She will renew the protections upon you."

Not his mother then, his cousin. Darcy's eyes drifted shut.

"We will, I assure you," Fitzwilliam replied. "We were last in Kent this past April."

But that was not quite right, was it? He had been to that county more recently than that, hadn't he? He could not summon the memories, however, and soon all conscious thought slipped away.

…

When he next awoke, it was to Fitzwilliam's solemn gaze. His cousin lay down his newspaper, and helped Darcy to a sitting position. Darcy throat was sore, and his eyes fixed on his cousin's cup of tea. Noting this, Fitzwilliam moved over to the tray and poured out a second cup. It was tepid, but Darcy welcomed it, even if his hands trembled so badly he nearly spilt it.

"Careful," his cousin murmured, steadying the cup.

"My uncle?" Darcy asked, though it was a chore to form the words.

"Sleeping. He is greatly tired. The curse breaking took much out from him."

"What time is it?"

"Only mid-morning. You slept through the night."

"Have you slept?"

Fitzwilliam smiled, "very well. Worry about yourself. I have had plenty of rest. Indeed, I have only been out once, to check the salt lines."

"Salt lines?"

"My father put a circle around the house."

"Of salt?" Darcy groaned. "The lawns will be ruined. Could he not have used iron?"

His cousin smiled grimly. "He was not thinking of the future of your gardens at the time. You frightened him badly. Indeed, you frightened us both. It was a curse meant to kill, make no mistake. You were so ill that at times you could not breathe, and we thought the fever would never break."

This plain account stopped Darcy short and he stared at his cousin a moment. "And we still do not know who cast it."

"No, indeed, but it is sometimes the way things go. People who have no true motivation beyond greed or general hatred. My father has a thousand recommendations of improvements for the house, to help stave off malevolence in the future. If you will not take the expense of an iron fence around the park - and at ten miles around I imagine you will not - then he insists on more iron in the house to ward off the fair folk, and a horseshoe over the front door for luck, and iron bells and herbs in the nursery as a countermeasure for changelings."

"Changelings? The nursery?" Only his cousin's serious countenance could stop Darcy from laughing. "Fitzwilliam, I have no children, and Georgiana has been out of the nursery since-"

He stopped short.

"Darcy?"

"Where is Georgiana?"

…

"London," Fitzwilliam said at last, but it did little to quell Darcy's fear. Something was badly wrong, he was sure of it. Something to do with his sister.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes. She is there with her companion, and my brother and sister-in-law are in town. They promised to keep an eye on her, remember?"

Darcy struggled to push himself upright, sitting without the cushions, but this alarmed his cousin who moved at once to prevent it. "You must calm down! You cannot put strain on your heart. You are weak yet. It takes more than one day to recover."

"But something is wrong with Georgiana!"

This stopped Fitzwilliam short. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" cried Darcy, frustrated. "That's why I had come here. That's why I went to Arbor Low. I had to renew the protections on my mother's charms for us. I remember that now."

"Darcy," his cousin's voice was low, urgent. "You must try and think. Why were you worried about the protective charms? Is Georgiana in danger?"

"Yes. No. She was in danger. Someone had tried," Darcy frowned, unable to remember. Who had tried to do what?

Darcy tipped to the side, and shifted his hand to steady himself. His fingers brushed against one of the herb-and-iron charms that his uncle has strewn across the bed. It was like being doused with a bucket of water, and all the cobwebs were brushed free from his mind. He let out a strangled gasp. "Wickham!"

"_Wickham_?" Fitzwilliam said, astonished. "George Wickham? The steward's boy?"

"Yes, yes, remember how good he way with the old magic? My father sponsored him. He wanted him to take orders and work from Kympton. But he was not suited. He was more interested in earthly things. I knew he had given up working against the evils of the north, but I did not know he had turned to them. I thought his mind focused on more common vices."

"What happened with Georgiana?"

"He went to her. He found her, at Ramsgate. He was conspiring with Mrs. Younge."

Fitzwilliam let out a horrified noise. Mrs. Younge has been his choice.

"He had cast a spell on her. A love charm. And they were feeding her with a philtre, in her tea. Some of my mother's protection charms held; Georgiana was not obsessed with him, not bent to his will. She would not consent to everything he wished," Darcy spat the words bitterly. "He was forced to make use of his own natural charms to convince her to elope. They were to go to Gretna Green, and I imagine the further north they went the more his spell would have strengthened. Her fortune, I think was at least half his object. He was also greatly angry with me over Kympton. The rest of his motivation, I am sure you can guess. I discovered it half by chance, and half, I think, by the protections my mother wove into the townhouse. I grew more and more convinced that I ought to visit Georgiana, to surprise her. Thank the Lord I did."

The cousins looked at each other a long moment.

"What did you do?"

"I was furious, but I could not confront him. Not with Georgiana. I took her back to London, under the protection of the old townhouse, and your brother's wife recommended her own governess from before her marriage. I remember that now. They are in London together."

"You told my brother-?"

"No, only that I needed a new companion for Georgiana. One versed in the old ways. I wanted Georgiana in the south, in town, where the old evils are weakest. Being in Kent may have saved her."

"Curses and charms are weaker there, but not weak," Fitzwilliam said. "Sir Lewis is proof of that."

"Yes," Darcy said. "Georgiana is young yet, if she recognised the spell, she could not break its hold. Thank God I found her. She was inconsolable when I freed her from the enchantment. I was loath to leave her. But I knew then that I had to renew my mother's protective charms, so I took the iron periapts and made for Derbyshire."

"I am glad your memory has returned, but upon my word I did not expect such a tale."

Darcy brought a hand to his temple. "You must tell no one else, for my sister's sake."

"I will not," Fitzwilliam promised. "Not even my parents. But you must now take care. Wickham is still loose, and his crimes are not ones that can be charged in ordinary courts. You ought forge stronger charms, ones that would turn the curse against its caster. Lady Catherine would help you, I think, if you should ask her."

…

"We are going down to Wiltshire for October, to my sister-in-law," the earl said that evening, washing his hands in the basin. "It is interminably dull, but the house is good and very near to Avebury."

Fitzwilliam held out a cloth which his father took to dry his hands. There was a long silence while the earl appraised his nephew, taking in the sunken cheeks and pale, sweaty face. He looked ill yet, but the improvement was undeniable.

"You should be nearby," he said finally, placing the cloth on the table. "At least for All Hallows' Eve, I would have you close."

"In Wiltshire?" Darcy said finally, bewildered at the suggestion but unable to summon the energy to convey his confusion.

His uncle smile tiredly. "Nay, I would not force that upon you. Indeed, you are a man grown and can go where you like. But I would wish you south of Northampton at least. The old magic is weaker in the south, and you should be safer."

"Besides, if you should struggle that night, we could be with you quicker," Fitzwilliam said softly. "Perhaps even on All Saints' Day."

The earl nodded sharply. "It would put my mind at ease. I am certain now that your servants were not involved. I have investigated thoroughly, and none of them have the talent for it. Perhaps I was wrong about the knowledge of Pemberley required for this magic. It would take enormous power to come from another source but perhaps you were caught in the crossfire of some ducal feud, or the working of the fey realm. Still, this curse has robbed you of your strength, and it will take some time to regain your power, even when your body is long recovered. Do you have no friends in the home counties? You ought to write to them and wrangle an invitation. Or go to town for a few weeks, when you are well enough."

"I recall you saying Bingley had taken a house near London," the colonel said thoughtfully.

"Bingley?"

"You haven't met him, sir," the colonel said to his father. "Hale young fellow, very wealthy but no property. His sister married Beauford's godson, you know, Mr. Hurst."

"Yes but where is this house?"

"Hertfordshire," Darcy croaked.

"Ah, good, that's good," the earl said, adjusting the iron nails on the table. "the old magic is very weak there, so close to London. If you keep your mother's charms on you and go to services every Sunday you should be well. Nothing of note ever happens in Hertfordshire."

**Thank you for reading! Please review. I welcome any and all feedback, no matter the length, and I particularly welcome constructive criticism - I assure you that I am not easily offended! : )**


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